


Katoh, Kadan

by Scrunchles



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:57:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3622308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunchles/pseuds/Scrunchles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It is difficult to force the Iron Bull to do anything.  Dorian cannot make him sit down, nor can he make him sit still.  He cannot push down on his massive shoulders and expect a pause of any sort in Bull’s upward movement.  He cannot make him listen, nor can he make him understand that “rubbing dirt on it” is not in any way helpful to the healing process."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Katoh, Kadan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MinervaDashwood (OrangeGrass)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=MinervaDashwood+%28OrangeGrass%29).



> This is written in response to a request on tumblr:
> 
> "If you are still doing prompts: Bull is injured and Dorian tries to give him first aid (magic, poultice, your choice), but Bull is too stubborn to sit still for it. So for once, Dorian has to be the dominant one and make Bull submit for the proper treatment."

It is difficult to force the Iron Bull to do anything.

“Bull,  _please_.”

Dorian cannot make him sit down, nor can he make him sit still.  He cannot push down on his massive shoulders and expect a pause of any sort in Bull’s upward movement.  

“Stop doting on me already.”

He cannot make him listen, nor can he make him understand that “rubbing dirt on it” is not in any way helpful to the healing process.

“This will take literally twenty seconds!”

No matter how many times they argue about Iron Bull’s choice of wound-care—which largely consists of ignoring it once it’s not bleeding  _too much_ —Dorian has never been as enraged as he had been when Bull simply shrugged and replied, “Yeah, but it usually helps with the bleeding.”

“That’s twenty seconds of killing bears I’ll never get back.”

Usually, before Dorian can decide that it’s in Bull’s best interest for him to magically cauterize the wound, the Inquisitor will intercede, and Iron Bull will reluctantly stand still long enough for Dorian to put a quick poultice on the wound. Rarely will Iron Bull allow him to use real magic.

“Oh? And how many bears do you kill every twenty seconds?”

Whether Bull is actually wary of magic, or if he just wants his wounds to scar has come up in conversation before.  The Qunari merely talked him in circles until Dorian gave up with an indignant huff and moved to the other side of the party.

Bull doesn’t reply, just keeps stalking forward with blood running down his shoulder to drip off his elbow. Dorian frowns and waits impatiently, attempting to keep up with the Qunari’s massive strides without looking like an uncoordinated child keeping up with a parent.

Dorian’s anger doesn’t come from Bull not allowing him to heal him—he never did before, Dorian is used to it; Bull doesn’t take “coddling and cooing” from anyone—it’s that he isn’t listening to him, never even considering Dorian’s words, just brushing them off like his concern is nothing.  When they are alone together—in a tent, in Bull’s room above the tavern, in Dorian’s lofty quarters on one of the freezing spires of Skyhold—all Bull does is listen to him.  “Touch me here,” “touch me there,” “harder,” “softer,” “faster,” “tighter,” “more,” “less,” “now,” “please,” “ _Katoh_.”

“Bull,” Dorian forces power into his voice, drawing on his iron will to keep this massive asshole alive long enough that either Corypheus might be defeated or they face a dragon. The Qunari doesn’t even acknowledge him.

“I’ll be fine,” “I’ve had worse,” “Just let me drink it off,” “Just let me sleep it off,” are all things that Dorian has heard from Bull before.  He’s like a cracked mirror, repeating the same half-image over and over again time after time when all Dorian wants is to take twenty seconds to slap a poultice on his wound or knit his flesh back together with a gentle coax from the fade.

“Bull! Listen to me, damn it!”

Bull lengthens his stride, and Dorian reaches deep down inside himself not to simply dip into the fade and incinerate his bull headed lover.

“ _Katoh_.”  Dorian states firmly, coming to an abrupt stop himself.  The Inquisitor and Sera had been following them, Bull trying to out-walk Dorian and Dorian keeping a stilted pace with him in the hopes that his stubbornness might triumph over Bull’s.

He isn’t letting go, he’s tired of Bull’s lip service about how he gives Dorian what he needs and he doesn’t want or need anything in return.

“ _Dorian_ …” Bull sighs, stops, and it takes all of the Inquisitor’s strength applied to Sera’s shoulders to keep her moving forward and not gawking at them as they bypass the two.

“Don’t you dare, ‘ _Dorian_ ,’ me!” The mage shoves Bull, and though it doesn’t actually have the power to move him, Bull at least glances at the tangle of tree roots Dorian is trying to push him toward.  “Go sit down.”  He orders, past asking, suggesting and begging.

Bull opens his mouth to reply, but Dorian just fixes him with the withering look his mother always used to give him before a gala.  The Qunari isn’t known for picking his battles, but he takes a step toward the tree, scratching his stubble as one step turns into two, and then another three have him sitting down and staring straight ahead.

Dorian doesn’t say anything, just sets to work wiping the still-oozing blood from the wound.  He spreads the damp mash of leaves and herbs on a thick length of cotton and plasters it to Bull’s shoulder, taking care that all of the long gash from the dip of his shoulder’s joint to the top of his bulging trapezius was covered.  

“Hold this,” Dorian orders, and tells himself that he isn’t surprised when Bull’s hand comes up to do as he’s told. “Lightly,” he adds, gently pulling Bull’s hand up enough that he’s just steadying the cloth with his fingers rather than pressing it into the wound.

“Yes, mother,” Bull grunts, but Dorian ignores his stab at humor, not even pointing out that it wasn’t clever to reuse one of Krem’s favorite remarks.

“… Twenty-five seconds… twenty-six seconds…” Bull rumbles after a few more seconds pass, only for Dorian to pull the bandage more tightly than needed. “Ow…”

“Next time I tell you to sit down and let me heal you, I expect compliance.”  Dorian snaps, cutting the excess bandage from Bull’s shoulder and rerolling it into his pack.

“You can’t just toss around a watchword like you own it, you know.  Loses its meaning that way.”  Bull mentions, flexing his shoulder experimentally.

“So don’t push me to it.” Dorian doesn’t look up at him until he’s certain he can do so without looking entirely put out.  “I think you resist letting me help you just so you can watch me flail around and wail about how much blood you’re losing.”

“Oh, so it’s not just wailing to me.  Good to know.”

Dorian resists smacking his injured shoulder in frustration and simply turns to walk off.

“Dorian,” Bull says, following the mage, and catching up in a few steps.  He grabs the man’s shoulder and carefully pulls him around, casting a glance toward the Inquisitor trying to stump Sera on which hand their ring is in. “For future reference, if you want to care for my wounds…” he smiles, scars and laugh lines creasing, “I expect a very  _firm_  and  _unyielding_ ‘ _Kadan_ ’ to precede any orders.”

“And you’ll do what I ask?” Dorian is understandably wary, but the tenseness in his shoulders lessens.

“Mhm, but only if you order me around like earlier.”  Bull’s tongue flicks out to moisten his lips, following the deep scar through the middle of his bottom lip back in.

“We’ll see.”  Dorian lets Bull’s hand remain on his shoulder as they turn to catch up to the Inquisitor and Sera, who seems to think that the mark on the Inquisitor’s hand works as a portal that swallows up rings and spits them back out when convenient.  “I might just let you bleed out next time,” he mentions, though they both know it’s a lie.

Bull laughs, though, and picks up Sera by the back of her shirt, preventing her from attempting to shove her fingers through their fearless leader’s glowing palm.


End file.
